


At The Midnight Hour, Part II: Sanguine

by translorastyrell (nerddowell)



Series: At The Midnight Hour (Vampire AU) [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Human/Vampire Relationship, M/M, Vampire Turning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-14 05:59:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16487141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerddowell/pseuds/translorastyrell
Summary: ‘I dreamed it again,’ Renly tells him, resting his ear against the stillness of Oberyn’s breast. Oberyn sighs softly, running his fingers over the delicate curve of the boy’s throat, tracing the artery thumping beneath the skin.‘Did you, my love?’‘It frightened me.’A sequel/prequel (could be either) toAt The Midnight Hour.





	At The Midnight Hour, Part II: Sanguine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [King_4aDay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/King_4aDay/gifts).



> Gifted to [King_4aDay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/King_4aDay), because they expressed interest not only in the pairing but also in this AU!

He’s starving, in a parched, famished way that makes it feel as though his belly is full of flames, his blood dry and cracking like grit in his veins. His head swims, vision tunnelling, ears rushing with a sound like the roaring of the ocean, a human heart pumping liquid ambrosia around a warm body. Footsteps echo behind him on the path, soft, anxious breathing, the lion creeping up on the gazelle. The human has no idea that the predator, in this situation, is in fact the prey. The vampire knows exactly where he is leading the boy to, under the guise of being too weak to hunt. He drags his feet, still supernaturally light over the pavement as though stepping on air, and collapses against a slick, soot-covered alley wall. A howl, far away, of a wolf splits the silence and he answers, tipping his head back to the moon. His teeth glint white in the light, sharp as knives, and he forces out a hoarse cry of pain. His throat is so _dry_.

The boy stops at the entrance to the alleyway, casting his eyes around for an escape should he need it. The vampire knows there is none. He turns his head slowly, fixes the boy’s terrified blue eyes with a gaze as black as pitch, and attacks. He moves too fast for the human’s eyes to catch it, a flitting in the dark between the back wall of the alley and the entrance, behind that firm, warm body with its pulsing blood. The first spurt of it over his tongue when his teeth pierce the fragile skin of the boy’s throat is bliss; instantly he is overcome, clutching the body to his chest, ignoring the struggles and moans of pain growing weaker as he sucks, and sucks, and sucks. He barely knows what he’s doing in the frenzy of blood filling his mouth, warmth radiating through his body as he draws it from the human around whom his jaws are clamped.

Another wolf joins the chorus, low and lonely; the warbling note snaps him back to himself. The boy is a rag doll, limp, against him, pale as the moon and cold as death. The beating of his heart is slow and sluggish, the last of the blood oozing out of the puncture wounds on his neck. The vampire drops the body, disgusted, and flees the alley.

The wolf howls again.

* * *

Renly wakes in the night, tangled beneath the thin duvet, and struggles upright, grasping for the body beside him. Oberyn is there, his eyes closed and breathing deep and slow, acting asleep. There is nothing to fear any more. At the touch of Renly’s hand on his bicep, Oberyn snaps awake, disconcerting in the speed of his movements. He draws the boy to his chest, cool despite the heat of the night, and cards his hand through his hair like a father with a crying child.

‘I dreamed it again,’ Renly tells him, resting his ear against the stillness of Oberyn’s breast. Even years later, it surprises him for a moment to hear nothing but his own breathing; no beating heart, no filling and emptying of the lungs. Oberyn sighs softly, running his fingers over the delicate curve of the boy’s throat, tracing the artery thumping beneath the skin.

‘Did you, my love?’

‘It frightened me.’

‘It is a frightening experience,’ Oberyn agrees quietly, scraping his nail – sharp, and translucent, like old glass – over the boy’s collarbone. ‘From what I remember, at least.’

‘What do you remember?’

‘Pain.’ Oberyn says simply, leaning down to brush his lips over the crook of Renly’s shoulder. ‘Pain, and fear, and anger. I still do not know who – or what – sired me. Only that it did, and so I am like this.’

Renly nods, and tips his head to the side, letting Oberyn kiss and nuzzle at the side of his throat.  
‘Are you hungry?’

‘A little. I have had enough for tonight.’

‘Your behaviour says otherwise,’ Renly grins, turning his head to look at him. ‘I can feel how much you want more.’

‘I always want _more_ , little one,’ Oberyn says with a wicked grin, ‘but I am no longer _hungry_.’

Renly laughs, and Oberyn rolls him over onto his back until the laughter turns to sighs and then cries of pleasure.


End file.
